


His Mighty Shield

by stilesinwonderland (itsabravenewworld)



Series: His Mighty Shield [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Superhero Derek, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsabravenewworld/pseuds/stilesinwonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Derek Hale is Captain America</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Mighty Shield

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyyyy  
> so I haven't posted in a while, but this is something I did for superhero week on tumblr and I'm considering making it part of a series, so if you think it's worth exploring, let me know in the comments (or pm me, i don't care!)  
> PS here is the link to it on tumblr: obriensnipples(.)tumblr(.)com/post/97619999233/his-mighty-shield  
> so come and reblog it and leave comments and things!!!  
> PS: The title is from the old Marvel Heroes theme from the 1960's :3

Derek barely closes his door before someone pounds against the wood, demanding to be let in. Stiles scoffs in disgust when Derek opens the front door, looking exhausted and still in his dirt-crusted suit. His brown hair is falling over his forehead in pieces, probably from where he’d been pulling at it. He looks like he’d run to Derek’s apartment if Derek wasn’t already inviting him in, and when Derek steps back Stiles snorts again, but steps inside anyway.

“What?” Derek asks, scratching at his stubble guiltily. Derek has bags under his eyes but they’re already fading from a purple to blue as his body adjusts to his exhaustion and heals itself. The spandex of his bright blue suit is stained dark and muddy.

Stiles lets out another disappointed noise at the looks of him. “You know exactly what. You know.”

“I saved three hundred people from shrapnel damage?” Derek says blandly, and swears that Stiles’s eye twitches. “I’m fine.”

Stiles’s brown eyes flicker with anger. “I watched a bomb explode in your  _face,_ Derek.”

“You can’t rely on televisions anyhow. They lie all the time.”

“No,” Stiles says, crossing his arms and leaning forward, and Derek knows he’s really going to give it to him. “I can rely on the fact that you took a bomb straight on because I  _watched_  as you flew across Times Square.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say to that, because if he argues his point, he will only feed Stiles’s anger further. So he lets Stiles pace up and down the open floor of Derek’s apartment, long legs slowing as he comes to a stop. He follows the line of Derek’s ungracefully slumped body up and down and Derek can’t help himself from staring at his eyelashes.

“You know,” Stiles says, starts pacing again with a wave of a hand when he picks another wave of anger up. Derek stares at him patiently. “Just because it’s July Fourth, and you’re ‘Captain America,’” Stiles says with accompanying air-quotes, making Derek resist from rolling his eyes, “It doesn’t mean that you’re obligated to pull stunts like that one today.”

“I’m not letting innocent people get hurt anymore.”

“Tony’s suit would have been perfect for defending himself from that, not you.”

Derek can’t really defend himself from that. He sort of gives a shrug and braces for Stiles to smack him in the chest like he usually does, but he gets wrapped into a tight hug instead. Derek starts and his shoulders lock up before he tentatively wraps a single arm around Stiles’s waist in return. Derek breathes in Stiles’s scent subtly because he’d had a single moment where he’d thought he wouldn’t be able to do that anymore.

“I thought you might not be coming back this time.” Stiles says quietly. He lets go finally, and levels him with a glare. “Your stubborn ass has to prove me wrong every time.”

“You would think you’d have a more positive reaction to my being alive,” Derek says, letting his hand linger just a little too long against Stiles’s back. He tugs at Stiles’s shirt, lets go finally. With a small smile, Stiles tugs at his slightly torn suit and it snaps back against his chest. Derek huffs.

They eventually travel over to the couch and Derek slumps into the cushions with a tired groan. It’s almost like he can feel his muscles stitching themselves back together and the bruises fading away because he usually doesn’t get so hurt all at once, and he hasn’t even gotten the chance to wipe the fading streaks of blood from his cheeks, flaking away and fading to a soft pink rather than an angry red. Now that his ears have stopped ringing and are fully recovered from the accident a few hours ago, everything feels dulled, silent, a certain level of calm but too little stimulation at once.

Stiles’s face softens a little at the way Derek doesn’t seem to hold himself taut and he’s no longer feeling alert and strung up like he usually is for a few hours after a fight. He shifts uncomfortably because his belt is digging into the skin of his waist when he tries to stretch, tight blue spandex stretching over his muscles. Tiredly, he sighs, and they both attempt to reach and unbuckle it at the same time.  

Stiles jerks away from Derek’s touch with a panicked look, but Derek, with tired eyes, keeps his touch gentle and insistent, brushing their hands together. After a few tense seconds, Stiles slumps his shoulders in a relaxed stance and keeps his hand there. Derek’s eyes are trying to convey something that Stiles can’t decipher easily, and he doesn’t want to chance trying. But Derek doesn’t know what he wants, either, and it’s been hard for him to ask ever since he’s been thrust into this new world.

Stiles looks Derek in the eyes, way too serious and his eyes are dark-brown orbs staring at him intently. His hand twitches against Derek’s and he squeezes. “Seriously, you and I both know you can heal, but you still can’t do that to me—”

Derek finds himself leaning forward as Stiles keeps talking and all at once their lips are touching. There’s a rush all the way to his  _toes,_ electrifying through his body and his hands shoot to steady Stiles’s biceps when they tremble and jerk in shock. He mouths at Stiles’s bottom lip, desperate for his touch, and his mind is buzzing with too many things at once that it all clears out and in one second all he knows is  _Stiles, Stiles is right, Stiles is what I want._

Stiles seems to be sharing the same wavelength because as soon as he gets over his obvious shock of Derek’s onslaught, his mouth vibrates against Derek with his low-set groan and his fingers dig into Derek’s hair, tugging.

“Wait,” Stiles tries to say, and their lips mash wetly between them and Derek’s stubble scratches at Stiles’s mouth when he turns his face to the side. This makes his breath come shakier against Derek’s face— Derek wants to hold onto him harder and bruise his skin, which is all at once unfamiliar but he  _wants_  it, so badly, and he knows he’ll never change his mind about this. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Stiles says, like he means the exact opposite, and to accentuate this, he lets Derek lift him up with two hands on his waist. He falls with a huff and their crotches grind together harshly.

A wounded and primal sound forces its way out of Derek’s chest and he gives a tentative thrust up, keeping eye contact. He wants Stiles to know that this is important to Derek and not just something he is doing in the heat of the moment.

This seems to finally shake Stiles out of his stupor, though, and he shakes his head definitively, insistently grabbing at Derek’s shoulder and falling off of his lap into the arm of the couch.

Derek’s hands grapple in the air and he looks at Stiles, panting against the couch. His hair is in disarray and Derek’s hands must have been too rough with Stiles’s clothing because it’s  _ripped_ right where the buttons are supposed to be, and Derek wonders how he could have lost so much control.

“Is everything okay?” Stiles doesn’t answer, traces over his own slick and red lips slowly, staring Derek in the eyes. He looks troubled, which keeps Derek from kissing him again. He does scoot himself closer, though, close enough to touch but never closing the gap. “Stiles?”

“I’m okay,” Stiles says at his distressed tone. “I just— how are you okay, with doing that?”

“Kissing you?” Derek says. He knows he’s blushing stupidly at just the thought, because acting and thinking through what he is doing are two things that happened in the wrong order, but he clears his throat, determined. “I wanted to. You’re important to me.”

Stiles grimaces, and Derek knows he’s said something wrong. Stiles chews at his pink bottom lip in thought. “You know that you don’t just kiss people that are important to you, right?” he asks eventually.

“I’m not stupid, _”_ Derek says, irritated, for no real reason at all, because he’s not mad at Stiles, not really. Maybe he’s mostly angry at being treated with kid-gloves. “Of course I know that.”

“I didn’t say you were  _stupid,_ Derek.” Stiles scowls. “We need to make sure we’re on the same page, though. Because I want to do this.”

“I do too.”

“I don’t want to…” Stiles looks like he’s struggling with the proper words to use.

Derek finally gets it. “You don’t want to take advantage of me?”

“I guess,” Stiles shrugs, a frustrated set to his mouth.

“I’m not completely innocent, Stiles, for Christ’s sake. I was in the  _army,_ ” Derek says in exasperation, but there’s no heat in it because he mostly just wants Stiles to understand now.  That he’s tired of over-thinking things all of the time. Stiles is easy to him, where everything else is still new and foreign. Stiles, he thinks, flexing his palms against the shirt bunched at his back, is familiar. Exhilarating and wonderful and a source of light in the engulfing darkness, and he doesn’t want to hear about how Stiles doesn’t want to do this because of  _him._

He’s tired of being  _wrong._  “I’ve killed people, Stiles. I’ve seen war and sickness and destruction. I’m not ignorant of  _life._ ”

Stiles’s eyebrows scrunch up, like that’s something completely new for him to worry over, and Derek meshes their mouths together desperately. Stiles squawks in surprise, but not quite in disagreement this time. His hands twitch where they’re still pressed against Derek’s collarbones. “If you want to stop for you,” Derek says, rough and quiet, just brushing his mouth over the skin of Stiles’s jaw, “then I will. But don’t stop for me. Because I don’t want you to.”

That seems to do it. Stiles’s breath hitches in the quiet of the apartment, and when Derek meets his gaze, he slips his eyes closed and arches his neck back.

“Full speed ahead, Captain.”

Derek can’t help it, and he snorts. Stiles’s face breaks out into a grin and even though his eyes are closed, Derek knows they would be sparkling if they were open. His head is still thrown back, an arch that Derek can’t stop touching with the pads of his fingers, gentle. “Are you kidding me.”

Stiles shifts, tosses one leg over Derek’s hips, and with a steady hand on Derek’s shoulder slowly lifts himself up onto Derek’s lap again. He sinks down slowly, settling into the crevice of Derek’s hips. The breaths in his chest seem to stop halfway out and Derek can’t keep his hips from inching up.

Stiles takes hold of Derek’s hands in a sure grip, leads them to his own hips. “Really though,” Stiles tilts his head to the side, brown eyes tracking the swell of Derek’s Adam’s apple. His gaze is hungry, in a way that Derek could have noticed before, if he had been looking hard enough.

He’s looking now.

Derek is hyper aware of Stiles’s fingers, hovering just over their stomachs like he’s itching to touch, has been wanting it like Derek has for so long. Derek’s are keeping the same distance, the both of them on the precipice of just taking, and the breath of space between them is holding them back.

“Come on then, you star-spangled bastard,  _touch me_.” He seems to backtrack and he quickly amends that with “but take your time if you’re not sure or want to take it slow, I’m good for exploration, let’s go slow. Glacial.”

Derek’s mouth curves up against Stiles’s warm neck and he  _does_  touch him, finally running strong palms over Stiles’s abdomen and downward. He brushes against the length of heat straining against the fabric of Stiles’s jeans and sucks in the air he doesn’t have left.

“You’re pretty good at this.” Derek palms at the curve of Stiles’s ass and lifts him again to settle him tighter against his chest. “Like, unbelievably good. Did they teach you that in the army?”

Derek proudly says, “I’ve looked up how it works, with a man, on the internet,” while still managing to look coy about it, and Stiles is silent for too long.

“Are you, are you telling me you’ve looked up gay porn online? You don’t even know how to work a computer,” Stiles moans breathily into Derek’s hair, and they both know it’s a weak protest.

If Stiles were looking closely enough, he would be able to see Derek’s blush brushing across his nose. “I mostly wanted to know about what I was feeling for you. Some of the articles were very informative.  JARVIS helped me with it.”

Stiles turns a furious shade of red. “You asked— You,” he’s shaking his head furiously, jostling in Derek’s lap. “Tony will never let this go.”

Hesitantly, Derek lets go and retracts his hands back. “Was I not supposed to use the internet for that?”

Stiles shakes his head again, scooting closer and bumping their foreheads together. “No, you idiot. That’s pretty great, actually. There wasn’t anything that you still didn’t understand, though, right?”

“No,” Derek answered. “It was pretty straightforward.”

Stiles smiles. “Well, great. Hit me with that super strength, then,” Stiles requests with a hint of a mischievous smile, barely hiding his now-darkened gaze piercing into Derek’s. “We need to eventually talk about your case of self-sacrificing hero syndrome, though.”

“After. I promise.” Derek mouths at Stiles’s neck lazily slow. “We have all the time in the world.”

  
Stiles smiles down at him. “I sure hope so.”


End file.
